Darkness Falls
by iluvtorun
Summary: As the holidays approach, Garcia suffers a personal loss that sets her on edge. The team catches a tough case that hits close to home for Morgan, and things quickly spiral out of control for our favorite couple. M/G of course!
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Enjoy! Some holiday angst and drama to get us through till the season starts back up. I don't own Criminal Minds. Darn it!_

Chapter 1

8 p.m.  
December 20th, 2012

Penelope Garcia had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as she said goodbye to the people she counseled every week. It was a "survivors" support group—the people she counseled had each lived their own personal tragedy and struggled to cope with it every single day of their lives. She could relate—even after nearly twenty years, she still ached when she thought of the fact that her parents were killed in a drunk driving accident while they were out looking for her. She had been eighteen, young and carefree on that night so long ago when she had decided to miss her curfew. The course of her life was forever altered by that single awful decision. Helping others cope with their own personal tragedy was part of the way she coped with the guilt she still sometimes felt over her parents' death—a penance, of sorts.

As she ushered the last person out of the building and locked the door behind her, she pulled out her cell and tried Rachael again. Rachael was the reason she had that horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Twenty-year-old Rachael Walters had lost her parents just over two years ago, in a way that was strikingly similar to how Penelope had lost her own parents. She had missed her curfew and while out looking for her, her parents had become the victims of a random act of violence. Both were brutally murdered a week before Christmas. As the second anniversary of their deaths had approached, Penelope had noticed Rachael becoming more withdrawn. She had tried to reach out to Rachel daily since the group had last week, knowing that the anniversary of her parents' deaths was coming on the 18th. Penelope hadn't been able to reach her since Monday. She could hear her teammates at the B.A.U repeating over and over in her head how anniversaries can serve as stressors. How many times had she heard them say it during cases? Hell, Derek Morgan, her best friend and personal knight in shining armor, had reminded her of that in this very parking lot as they had looked for a woman whose daughter had disappeared. In that instance, Penelope had been certain that the missing woman, Monica, had not committed suicide. She had known, in her gut, that Monica was a survivor and foul play had been involved. Now, however, she felt no such certainty. In fact, she had a horrible, sinking feeling that Rachael may have taken that awful, final step to end her own pain. As the call went to voicemail yet again, Penelope climbed in her car and headed toward Rachael's apartment.

As she drove, she thought about her relationship with the young, troubled girl. When Rachael had first started attending the counseling group seven months ago, Garcia had felt an immediate connection to her. Rachael didn't have any other family now that her parents were gone. Penelope knew how dark it could be, feeling as if there wasn't a single person on the planet who cared if you lived or died. When her own parents had died, she felt so alone in the world. Her brothers were grown and gone—they hadn't made much of an effort to make sure that she was okay. It was a lonely, dark place to be in. She had forged a friendship with Rachael, wanting the girl to know that there was someone who cared. Rachael needed to know that someone cared about her.

Penelope pulled up at Rachael's apartment complex—a rundown, overcrowded tenement in one of the seedier parts of town. As she wrapped her jacket around her against the cold, she stepped out of her car and steeled herself for whatever may come. She was surprised to see a light shining through Rachael's window. She knocked on her door, not really expecting an answer. As much as it made her feel like a prowler, she peaked through the curtain. It was then, through the parted curtain, that she could see a hand laying in a pool of blood. "Oh, Rachael," she moaned. Pulling out her phone, she dialed 9-1-1, knowing that it was already too late. She was nearly certain Rachael had killed herself.

4 a.m.  
December 21st

Garcia stood under the shower, wishing the hot water would wash away the cold feeling her heart. She had waiting in the cold for the police and ambulance to arrive. She had stood in Rachael's cold apartment as they had assessed the scene. She had given her statement to the police. She had watched as they covered Rachael's body, including the pool of blood and goo that had once been her head. She had shaken her head when they had asked her if there was anyone they should call. She wasn't certain if they had meant for her or for Rachael, but the answer was the same. She had thought briefly about calling Morgan. When bad things happened, she always thought of calling him. He had held her up through so many things . . . when she had been shot, when Monica had gone missing, and those countless times she had felt she could no longer handle her job. But they had just come home from a tough case a few days before, and she was certain he was still behind on sleep. Not to mention that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing to be done—no unsub to catch, no missing person. Everything pointed to suicide. Even Penelope, who was so willing to see the brighter side in things, was not surprised. She would have liked to have him there to lean on, but she simply couldn't justify calling him.

She felt so weary. Death and darkness greeted her every day on her screens at work. She saw the darkness that humans were capable of on a daily basis. She tried to keep her personal life bright and filled with purpose. But at the moment there was no brightness, no light. She had failed to help Rachael see her worth. The worst part was, she could understand, in a way, why she had made the choice she had. It wasn't that Penelope condoned the choice, but she could see how the pain could be overwhelming. She stepped out of the shower, noticing her eyes were red and swollen, with dark colors underneath showing her lack of sleep. In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee. She sat down to check her email, intending to blow some time doing something pointless while trying to forget the image of Rachael's half-gone head. She thought again of calling Derek as she logged on to her work email to check messages.

She scanned the subjects of the messages, noticing one marked urgent from Atlanta P.D. She had continued to assist in reviewing cases for the B.A.U. even after J.J. had returned to the team the previous year. Her heart sank as she read the email and after opening the attachments, she knew she was going to have to ruin the entire team's Christmas plans. Five minutes later, she was out the door, calling Hotch to give him the bad news.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas! I don't own Criminal minds, boo. Thanks for all the follows and reviews so far._

Chapter 2

8 a.m.  
December 21st

Derek Morgan leaned against the wall of the elevator as it slowly made its ascent to the B.A.U.'s floor. He was still exhausted from their last case, which had involved 5 horrific days and sleepless nights. Even after a full 36 hours of down time, he didn't feel quite recovered. Hotch's call at 5:30 this morning did not bode well for his planned trip to Chicago in two days to see his family for Christmas. Not to mention the ominous words Hotch had spoken before hanging up from his early-morning get-your-ass-to-work-now call . . . "_Prepare yourself, Morgan, it's a bad one_." What the hell did that mean? They were all bad, so if Hotch decided to _point out_ it was going to be bad, it must be fucking awful.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Morgan stepped out into the B.A.U.'s lobby, walking through the bullpen and toward his office. Reid and Blake already sat in the bullpen, talking sedately and drinking coffee. Looking toward the briefing room, he caught a glimpse of Garcia, Hotch and J.J., already in the briefing room. They looked grim. For Hotch, that was pretty much par for the course . . . but not for Garcia. His bubbly friend tried to smile through almost anything. Even from this distance, he could tell something was off. Derek dumped his stuff in his office, stopped to get a cup of coffee, and headed for the round room. Blake and Reid greeted him good morning and followed him. Rossi appeared out of his office.

As they entered the room, Derek took in his Baby Girl's appearance and felt immediate concern. She looked like shit, which was in and of itself completely out of character for her. Her eyes were red, and even though she had artfully applied her makeup, the dark circles under her eyes made it clear that she hadn't slept much lately. But it was her choice in wardrobe that shocked him most. She was wearing black. Her outfit was completely devoid of her usual flair—no color, no pep, no pizzazz. He wished that there was time to pull her aside and find out what was going on, but the minute they were all in the room, Hotch requested they get started immediately.

Garcia met Derek's eyes. There was so much going on behind her beautiful brown eyes that he had a hard time making sense of it all. Her expression was pained—he couldn't decide if she looked worried, sad, or hurt. Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely. He gave her a half hearted smile, and hoped again that they would have time to talk. Something was definitely up. Garcia reached for the remote for the screen, and began the briefing. Derek immediately understood why Hotch had warned him that this was a bad one.

Pictures of seven dead African-American boys filled the screen. "This morning Atlanta P.D. asked for our assistance on a serial case." Garcia began. "Over the last three months, they have had seven dead boys, ages ranging between twelve and fifteen years of age, show up dead in their city. Oddly enough, no one ever reported any of these boys missing and only four of the seven have been identified." She clicked again and the screen filled with a school photo of a smiling boy. "This is Jonas Riley, age thirteen. He was reported three days ago by his mother, after failing to return home from school." She clicked again and the same boy appeared, but covered in blood and devoid of life. Garcia looked at the ground and her voice was quiet. "Atlanta P.D. discovered the body around midnight. This murder appears to be linked to the others, and Atlanta would really like some help because they are afraid it's going to get worse."

Hotch took over. "Each of the boys appears to have been sexually assaulted repeatedly prior to death." Morgan noticed the Hotch met his gaze briefly. _FUCK. _ Morgan rubbed his hands over head, taking a deep breath. "Because only four of the first seven victims have been identified, it is difficult to tell how long each was held. Those four victims were all high risk—street kids living on their own with very few people to notice they were missing. We'll discuss the details more on the jet, but wheels up in thirty minutes. If he's moved on to low risk victims, he's evolving and we need to get ahead of this as soon as possible."

Everyone got up and headed to gather their gear—wheels up in thirty minutes meant they needed to be out the door in less than five, so that they had enough time to get to the airport. Derek lingered, waiting while Garcia collected her briefing materials. His mind was overwhelmed with the images of those boys, which of course made him think of his own abuse. Those faces made him think of Damien, the young boy his abuser had killed six years ago. The timing and the similarities brought every bit of that back to him in hellish detail. He already wanted to nail this unsub badly, and he didn't even know the specifics yet. Garcia always managed to help him stay grounded and keep his head in the game. He could use a little of that right now. "Hey, sugar," she said, concern lacing her voice. She placed her hand on his chest. "You okay?"

He grabbed her hand—his lifeline to sanity. "Yeah, it's going to be rough though. Are _you_ okay?" He noted again how un-Garia-ish she seemed. Maybe it was just sadness for this case. Then again, they'd had bad cases before, and while they had upset her, she never looked quite so sullen. He was pretty sure the last time she had looked like this was when Emily had "died".

She sighed in response. "No, not really, Hot Stuff. But you better go or you are going to be late."

"Penelope . . ." he started.

"Go, Derek," she said, pushing him toward the door. "Go get this guy. I'll survive until you get back." She smiled half-heartedly at him. This, of course, was exactly the thing to say to get him out the door. She knew him too well.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

9 p.m.  
December 23rd

Garcia laid her head down on her desk, emotionally and physically exhausted. She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the images that were burned into her mind. Even when she closed her eyes, she could see the pictures that currently filled her screens of the unsub's eighth victim. Emmanuel Waters, sixteen, taken in broad daylight on his way home from school two days ago, found last night in an Atlanta alley. Even as she shoved his picture out of her mind, another boy took his place. Jarel Howell, fifteen, taken six hours ago on his way home from school. The pictures she had seen of him were of him alive and smiling in his school uniform. But in her mind, he was dead. His eyes were staring blankly into space. The unsub wasn't wasting any time at all—three abductions in six days, and absolutely no cooling off period. If only she could narrow the suspect list more . . .

_Not helping_, she reminded herself. It never did any good to think about how it would be better to work faster. She took another deep breath and tried again to clear her mind of all of them. It worked for a blissful few seconds, before Rachael's half-missing head filled her vision. She couldn't stop the choked sob, or the tears that escaped her then. She'd slept little in these four very long days, and it was catching up with her. What she really wanted, really _needed_, was to call Derek and spill to him. She could very much use his strength and support right now. But because their unsub was doing what he was doing, her hot stuff was barely keeping it together. He was so far inside of his head on this case, he couldn't even find it in himself to joke when she called him. This didn't surprise her—it was his way of trying to cope with it all. The problem was that their flirty banter was _her_ way of coping. Normally she would find a way to pull Morgan out of his funk, but she just couldn't find it in her this time. She just felt raw and tired . . . oh so very tired. She was tired of the death; tired of the sadness . . . it was even worse considering that Christmas was in two days.

Her computer dinged. _Yes, finally something!_ She picked up the phone, then paused. Should she call Morgan or Hotch? She almost always called Morgan, but he had been so off kilter on this case. She worried that if she called him, he would take the lead and go off half-cocked. So it was Hotch that she dialed.

"Hotchner," he answered.

"Sir, I have something." She said. "You asked me to cross-reference a list of city employees working in the unsub's comfort zone with a list of known child offenders. I came up empty the first time, but a second search, expanding to include subcontractors working for the municipalities, gave me a name. David Ray, 35, works for a company that is subcontracted for trash removal in the comfort zone. He was arrested last year for lewd advances to a minor but nothing stuck. I'm sending over an address to your phone now." Maybe, if things finally started going their way, she could help Hotch get home in time to spend Christmas with his son. And if they were _really _lucky maybe they could get Jarel back to his mother for Christmas too. But she wasn't feeling terribly optimistic about either.

Hotch asked her to check for other properties in Ray's name, secondary locations he could be holding his victims at in case the residence didn't pan out, then disconnected the call. Garcia took a deep breath and thought again about Morgan. She always worried about all of her superheroes, but she knew this case was too close to his own experiences and that he wasn't thinking clearly. She considered calling him, just to ask him to be safe, but couldn't think of a single reason to justify the call. She settled for a text, just because she needed him to know she was thinking of him, even if just for her own piece of mind. _Be safe please._ Then she got back to work.

xxx

Morgan felt exhilaration in his veins as they drove to the address Garcia had given them. Finally a lead. The past three days had been utter hell. They had ran victimology and presented a profile, but they had been at a relative standstill the entire time they had been in Atlanta. Meanwhile, the unsub went right on along abducting, molesting, and killing boys right under their noses. Derek closed his eyes against the dark rage that boiled beneath the surface. He wanted this bastard off the streets _yesterday_. He hoped they could find the first boy alive.

His phone buzzed—a text from Garcia. _Be safe please_. He sighed inwardly. He'd been an ass to her for the duration of this entire case. Every time she attempted to flirt, he'd shut her down unceremoniously. He just couldn't find it in himself to joke while this man was out doing things to these boys he could imagine in horrible, vivid detail. He knew that it was illogical and unfair. He supposed he owed her an apology. As Hotch had pointed out to him a long time ago, she _always_ got the job done. And usually she helped keep his spirits up. The only thing that would make him feel better right now, though, was catching this sick fuck.

They pulled up in front of a dilapidated one story home in a crappy Atlanta neighborhood. Quietly, SWAT spread out. Morgan moved into position to follow them into the house. They breached the house, spread out and worked on clearing each room. The SWAT member he was paired with peeled off to check a room to the left. Morgan opened the door to the right and found stairs leading down to a basement. He went down, alone, shining his light to check his path. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a sound. Turning his head and his light, he saw a pipe swinging toward him out of the darkness. Then darkness fell over him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

10 pm  
December 23rd

As Penelope was working on cross referencing a list of all known associates of David Ray with property holdings within in the comfort zone Reid had established, her phone rang. The team must have finished at Ray's residence. "Speak and be heard!" She had to keep it light, because otherwise she was seriously going to lose it.

"Garcia," Hotch's voice greeted her. She had been hoping to hear from Morgan, to know that he was okay and that his head was in a good place. "We've finished at Ray's place, the boy isn't here. Ray was, but he managed to escape." There was something in the way he said that that made Garcia's hair stand on edge. Something had happened. "We'll need that list of properties he could potentially be using as soon as possible."

"On it, sir," she said. "Is everyone . . .okay?"

She heard him sigh. "The unsub hit Morgan over the head with a metal pipe. He lost consciousness for a few minutes but the medics were able to revive him."

"Oh," Garcia breathed. Of course it would be Morgan who was hurt. How many times had she sat behind her computers, while his life hung in the balance? How many more times would there be before his luck ran out. She felt the tenuous grip she had on her already frayed emotions begin to slip a bit.

"He's not really cooperating, and he's not taking it well."

"Do you think it would help . . . " she trailed off. She wanted desperately to talk to him, but didn't want to be in the way right now. "I mean, my system is working on the search, so there isn't much for me to do right now, unless . . . " She knew she was babbling. She didn't care. After the past few days, she really, really just needed to hear Derek's voice, to know that he was okay.

"It can't hurt, go ahead. I need him focused, anyway . . ." He trailed off, and she could swear she heard a smile in Hotch's voice. That made her smile, just a bit, that he thought she could help with that.

"Yes sir. I'll call you as soon as I get results on that search." She disconnected and dialed Morgan's number.

xxx

Derek heard his cell buzz. His head hurt like shit and he was tired of arguing with everyone that he didn't need to go to the hospital. What he needed was to catch the bastard who had bashed his head in with a pipe before he went and did something similar to Jarel Howell. He looked at his phone and saw that it was Garcia. He growled a bit. It had probably gotten back to her that something had happened.

"Morgan," he answered. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to dwell on the fact he let the guy get away from him. He just wanted this case to be done.

"Hey, you okay Hot Stuff? I heard some jealous fiend tried to de-prettify your handsome head." Her voice shook a bit as she spoke.

He did not need her worrying about him. He needed her to find out where this guy was. And he was certainly not in the mood for her humor. "Do you have something for me Garcia?" he bit out.

"No, I . . . " she stumbled. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Derek. I . . . "

He took a deep breath. He was _not _okay. He had let that jack ass get the jump on him and he knew what it was likely that Ray was doing right that very second. "I'd be better if you could just give us a clue as to where this guy is Garcia. Because he knows we're on to him and he's going to kill that kid as soon as he can. Why don't you do your job and worry about that." That last bit came out far more vehemently than he intended. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that he shouldn't have said it. He heard her intake of breath. Before he could correct his error, she mumbled a "Yes, sir" at him and disconnected the call. She had never "sir-ed" him unless Strauss had been listening. He looked up to see Reid staring at him, open mouthed. _Fuck. _

Hotch's phone rang less than a minute later. He answered it, listened, then hung up. "We've got an address." He told them all. "Let's move out."

Derek climbed into the passenger seat of one of the SUVs. Hotch was driving, with Reid and J.J. in the back seat. Blake and Rossi followed in a second car. He saw Hotch glance at him, then back to the road. He could feel Reid's questioning stare on the back of his head. He hoped that they would all just stay focused on what was going on and not broach the subject of his outburst. But it was J.J. who had the guts to speak up. She sat directly behind him and leaned forward, so that only he could here. "Really, Morgan, what were you thinking?" He closed his eyes. He deserved this. But J.J. wasn't even close to done. Garcia was, after all, her friend too. "When hasn't she done her job? She never stops doing it, even though something is going on with her. Something she hasn't said anything about because she knows this is a hard case for all of us, but especially for you." She leaned back then, exhaling an exasperated sigh.

Hotch spoke then, saving him from having to respond. "We're five minutes out. We all need to focus on the task at hand."

Morgan took a deep breath. That he could do. Then he would call his girl and apologize for being such an ass. But first, they had an unsub to catch and hopefully a boy to return to his mother.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, favorites and follows! I don't own CM, if I did we wouldn't have to wait till Jan 16 to see them again._

_Ohhh, and PS, anyone think it is interesting that they chose "The Company" to air last night as a rerun? Makes me really wonder what they have planned for that upcoming Morgan-centric episode. Eek!  
_

Chapter 5

12 am  
December 24th

Garcia slowly got the tears under control. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, head on her desk, bawling her eyes out. Jarel Howell was dead. There would be no Christmas miracle for that boy and his family. Hotch had called shortly after they had finished at the address she had given them. They had found the boy's body. The estimated time of death was around 6 pm, just three short hours after Ray had grabbed him. In a way, she was thankful that he had not suffered for long. And she was also thankful that he hadn't died after Ray had gotten away from Derek, because he would have heaped that load of guilt all on himself for years to come. Hotch had told her that they were relatively certain they would not need her for a while. That they were sure Ray was on the run, and they would focus their efforts on catching him as he tried to leave the city.

It was then, suddenly faced with nothing to do, that she lost it. It wasn't what Derek had said to her, although that hadn't helped. Part of her knew that he was in a dark, dark place because of this case, and that was why he had blown up at her. It was because she hadn't been able to reach him and pull them out of that dark place. Just like the fact that they hadn't reached Jarel in time. Just like she hadn't been able to reach Rachael. Just like they hadn't been able to reach Emily when she "died", or how they hadn't been able to get there in time to reach Hayley, Hotch's ex-wife.

The thing that really scared her was that one of these days, their luck was going to run out and one of her superheroes wasn't going to come home. She thought it had run out with Emily, but they had been granted an amazing gift when they found out she was alive. One of these days, one of them wasn't going to come home. If she was this torn up over the death of a girl she knew from her support group, how in the world would she handle it if one of her team didn't come home? When she thought about one of her team not coming home, she just knew it would be Derek. He would always be the first to put himself in harm's way. How many times had his life been in grave danger? He sat with a woman while a bomb was being diffused so that she wouldn't be alone. He narrowly escaped a terrorist explosion. He drove an ambulance filled with explosives through New York. He got himself shot, even if it was in a bullet proof vest. One of these days, his luck would run out and she simply couldn't bear to sit by and wait for it to happen anymore. She didn't think she'd be able to function when it did happen and she honestly didn't think she wanted to.

So she cried, and cried, and then cried some more. Because she didn't think she could do this anymore. She felt like she had finally lost herself in all that she had seen. There had been blood on her hands far too many times. She had listened to Hotch's ex-wife being shot over the phone. She had tried to staunch the flow of blood from the veins of boy who had tried to kill himself. She had watched life leave a man she hadn't known. She had watched one of her support group members kill the man who had kidnapped her, and she had now seen another with her head partially blown off. She was just . . . done. She couldn't see the point of it anymore.

When she was all cried out, she did something she probably shouldn't have. She went to Morgan's office and curled up on his couch. Since he couldn't be there for her, it was the closest she could come to having someone to lean on. She hoped the fact that she was completely exhausted meant that she wouldn't dream.

xxx

4 am  
December 27th

They finally had nailed the bastard, as he tried to flee the city on one of the lesser roads. He had been taken alive and was on his way to prison for a long, long time. Morgan was immeasurably glad that it was over. He had spent the past six hours focused on trying to catch this guy. Now, as they drove to the hotel, he finally started to think about what he needed to do to fix whatever damage he had done with Garcia. Hotch had told them they would leave at 7 am, so that everyone could get home in time for Christmas eve with their families.

They pulled up at the hotel for a few hours of sleep before their flight. He was rooming with Reid, so he begged off and gave a reason to stay downstairs in the lobby. He got a crappy cup of coffee and then pulled out his phone. He figured he would wake her, but knew she would want to know the case was over.

"Garcia," she answered, her voice heavy with sleep. His heart sunk a bit. She never answered her phone like that, which meant she had been truly upset about what he had said. He was such an ass.

"Hey, Baby Girl, just wanted to let you know we finally got him. Sorry if I woke you."

He heard her take in a deep breath. "No worries, sir. Glad to hear it."

_Shit_. She "sir-ed" him again. "Penelope, listen . . ." he began.

"Did you need anything else Agent Morgan?" Again with the formality. No nicknames, no endearments.

"Yeah, I need to apologize. I was too far inside my head to realize what I was saying, Baby Girl, and I'm so sorry." It came out in a rush, because he was afraid she was going to hang up on him.

He heard her sigh. "Derek," her voice practically broke as she said his name, and his heart clenched. "You don't need to apologize. I know this was hard for you. And while we're at it, I hope you know there was nothing you could have done to save that boy. You did everything you could."

Even though he was calling to right a wrong he had done to her, she was comforting _him_. Making sure he was okay. He was such an incredible idiot. "Baby . . . " he started again.

She cut him off. "I found a 7am flight for you to Chicago if you want it; I know you'd probably like to see your mom, especially after all that's happened."

No, what he really wanted was to see her, because even though she had brushed off his apology, he knew something was still very, very wrong. "I . . ." He started yet again.

"Do you want me to book it for you?"

She clearly wasn't going to let him get a word in edge-wise. He knew his mother was disappointed he had missed his planned flight. She would be ecstatic if he arrived unannounced on Christmas Eve. "Yeah, yeah, that would be great, Baby."

"Will do, I'll send the confirmation to your phone."

"Penelope . . ."

"Have a Merry Christmas, Agent Morgan." _Click._ He stared at the phone. He couldn't blame her for being pissed. He was pissed as hell at himself.

xxx

Garcia hung up the phone and sat up. She looked around Derek's office and felt the tears come again. She grabbed her tablet, booked his flight, and sent the information to his phone. One last act of friendship, before she put up a wall between them. She was pretty sure she knew what she needed to do, but she wasn't entirely certain she was strong enough to do it. She looked at the clock. 4 am in Virginia. It would be a reasonable time in London. She called the only person she could think of who could help her.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Em . . . " And dammit, she was crying again.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: This is a shorty, but it seemed natural to leave it all on its own. Don't own CM, in case you thought for some crazy reason I did._

Chapter 6

9 am  
December 24th

She had spilled every last detail to Emily over the phone. Emily, who had left them once in "death", returned, and then left her B.A.U. family a second time. Garcia had just needed to ask Emily if she regretted her decision to leave. After she had spilled the whole God-awful backstory—Rachael's suicide, the horrible case, Morgan's distance and harsh words, dead boys filling her screens—she asked the important question.

"Are you happy, Em?"

Thousands of miles away, she heard Prentiss sigh. "Yeah, for the most part. I miss you all like crazy of course. But it's easier to have _life_ without the B.A.U. in mine. For me, it was the right decision. But I can't tell you what's right for you, Garcia."

She closed her eyes, wiping again at the never-ending tears. "Oh, I know. I just . . . something's got to give Emily. I don't know what else to do."

"You're sure it's not just the holidays, or what Morgan said? If it's the whole thing with your friend, that I understand. But for Morgan to say what he did . . . " Emily trailed off.

"It has so much less to do with what he said and so much more to do with the fact that I don't want to watch another friend die, Em. Watched you, once, and it wasn't fun. It will be less fun if its ever him. I think I just realized how likely it is when he decided to get his head bashed in with a pipe. And then for me to not be allowed to even worry about him . . . "

She heard a slight "Oh" over the phone.

"Sorry, Em, didn't mean it that way."

"No, no, I kind of understand where you are coming from. And it sounds like you've already made up your mind?"

That, she certainly had—which was why she was currently knocking on Erin Strauss's door. She wasn't even sure their supervisor would be in the office on Christmas Eve, but she was. "Ma'am, do you have a moment?"

"Ah, Ms. Garcia, what can I do for you?" Strauss asked.

"Ma'am, I'd like to request a transfer. Immediate, if possible."

Strauss looked surprised. "Really? May I ask why?"

Garcia chuckled a little. "You _do _ remember the case you worked with our team, right? Do I really need to explain? I don't care where I go, so long as it's something less gruesome, and preferably something nearby." She had thought about that last bit for a while. She didn't want to abandon Harry and Jack; she still wanted to be in their lives.

"Have you discussed this with Agent Hotchner?"

"No ma'am, I only came to the decision while they were away. But I am certain this is what I want."

"I see," Strauss said. She looked pensive for a moment. "How about this—I'll transfer you immediately if you are still certain you wish to go after the first of the year. That gives you time to consider this and discuss with your team mates. I know you are all . . . close."

"That will do ma'am, thank you." She nodded to Strauss and made for the door. It was as much as she could have hoped for. "Merry Christmas, ma'am!" she called over her shoulder. She headed back downstairs to wait for her team, minus one, to arrive. She would tell tell J.J. first, and wait until after Christmas to break the news to the rest of them.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

8 am  
December 26th

Derek Morgan leaned back in the seat as his flight departed for Virginia. He had originally been scheduled to stay through the New Year, but had decided to move up his return. Something was very, very wrong. Garcia hadn't returned his calls. She hadn't returned his text wishing her a Merry Christmas. He had been so worked up about the fact he hadn't heard from her that he had called J.J. last night, just to make sure she was okay. J.J. had told her that she was there with them for Christmas, as planned, but no, she was not okay. That she had put in for a _transfer. _J.J. hadn't told him much else, but he could hear sadness and a bit of anger in her voice. She was probably angry at him and he sure couldn't blame her. Was she planning on transferring because of what he had said? He couldn't believe it. Something else had to be going on. So he had arranged for the earliest flight home that he could find.

He thought back over her behavior during this last case. He remembered how bad she had looked that morning in the briefing room, and how he had forgotten all about it once he had started focusing on the case. As soon as he had learned the details of this case, he had been sucked back to his own experiences, his own pain, and had developed extreme tunnel vision. He saw nothing but the case. Now, he went over the short, tense conversations they had before that awful one, and saw them for what they really were. Not her making light of the situation or failing to have focus—how could he have even been so stupid as to think that?—but her trying to pull him out of his head, while struggling with something herself. He had failed her. He had not only failed to see she was struggling, but he had actually yelled at her for trying to help him. He had yelled at her for being worried about him. Whatever else had happened to her, he found it hard to believe that she would have requested a transfer if he had just fucking been there for her the way she had always, _always_, been there for him. He sighed, and willed the flight to hurry up so that he could see her and set things straight.

_"Our love is rock, no bad day can come between us."_ The words came into his head from the past. He had been out of line with her that day too-worked up over watching a cop be killed in front of him and in front of his daughter, who was then taken by the unsub. That had been nearly two years ago. So much had happened since then. J.J. had left. They thought Emily had died. Garcia had taken on more responsibility at work. She had watched a friend kill the man who had taken her daughter. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. The things they faced on a day to day basis were enough to make a normal person fold under the pressure. She had always been so strong and dealt with anything they had thrown at her, but she was the least jaded of all of them-the most optimistic and hopeful.

_"I'm scared, Derek. I don't want to lose who I am just so I can do this job." _More words from the past. He had sworn to protect her that day. But he hadn't been there for her, hadn't paid attention to what she _didn't _say. Some profiler he was. He put in his headphones and tried to lose himself in the music. If he was lucky, he would sleep for a while-he hadn't slept much in Atlanta, and between nightmares and worry over this whole situation with Garcia, he hadn't slept much at his mom's place. He couldn't even bear to think what his life would be like without his Baby Girl in it.

xxx

10 am  
December 26th

Garcia sipped her coffee, thinking that she probably should switch to decaf before she had a caffeine meltdown. She hadn't slept much, but that was becoming par for the course. She had hoped she would catch Hotch in the office, but it looked like he was taking an extra day to hang out with Jack after being away for so long. She couldn't begrudge him that-it had to be difficult to balance the demands of this job with being a single dad, but he always tried to put Jack first. She was just dreading telling him about her decision to transfer. It had been harder than she expected to tell J.J.-she hadn't reacted well.

"You WHAT?" J.J. had looked at her incredulously.

"I asked Strauss for a transfer," she repeated. They were at J.J.'s house on Christmas Eve, watching Christmas movies with Will and Henry. She had gone to the kitchen with J.J. to make hot chocolate for everyone.

J.J. had just gaped at her, open mouthed. "Really, Penelope, if this is about what Derek said . . . "

"Why would you think that? It has so little to do with that. It was just kind of the final straw, you know? But there is so much more, J.J. I'm just tired of the blood and gore and darkness. But you can't tell anyone, okay? Let me do it. It isn't happening until after the first of the year anyway, and I don't want anyone to find out second hand." She was talking fast-if she was going to have to argue with every single one of them, this was going to be harder than she had imagined.

"But . . . " J.J. sputtered. Garcia could see that she was gathering her thoughts, preparing her argument.

"Please, J.J." she pleaded. "I thought a lot about this and I really think it's the best choice for me. Please don't argue with me or try to talk me out of it."

J.J. had sighed, but agreed. Garcia had spent most of Christmas day with J.J., Henry and Will, thankful for the distraction from the missed calls on her cell phone. She felt terrible for ignoring Morgan's calls, but she really couldn't deal with him right now. She was certain that one heartfelt conversation with him would be a fatal blow to her determination to make a change for the better.

After breakfast that morning, she had come to work to catch up on some server maintenance. Hotch had given the rest of the team the day off, but she hoped he would come in for a bit just so she could tell him about her decision. The more she spread this out, the more time she would have to recover from each person's reaction before having to repeat herself again. She dreaded Reid's reaction almost as much as she had dreaded J.J.'s. She couldn't even think about telling Morgan. He would blame himself because he had blown up at her . . . because he always blamed himself for everything. She sighed.

There was a knock at her door. "Come in!" she called, and turned, expecting someone from the tech pool, Hotch, or maybe even J.J. She nearly fell out of her chair when Morgan walked through the door. _No no no, she was not ready for this! _"You are supposed to be in Chicago!" she spluttered.

He shrugged and gave her a ghost of a smile. "My best girl wouldn't answer my calls so I had to come home and see what was going on with her."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to maintain distance between the two of them or she would never be able to walk away from the B.A.U. And if she didn't walk away from the B.A.U., she was pretty damn sure she was going to lose that last bit of herself she was hanging on to.

"I'm sorry, I . . ." she started, not really knowing what on earth she was going to say to him.

"No, sweetness, I'm sorry," he said earnestly, taking a few steps into the office. "I'm so sorry I said what I said to you. It was out of line and uncalled for. And I'm even more sorry for not noticing something was going on with you. I wasn't there for you when you needed me to be and I was too far in my head to see it. But _Jesus, _Penelope, how could you ask for a transfer?"

"Dammit, J.J.," she groaned. She stood up and turned to face him. Even though he was all the way across her small office, he felt too close. She was so not ready to have this conversation with him. She had been counting on telling him when it was already a done deal. "Morgan, this has nothing to do with that. I've just don't want to be surrounded by all the death anymore. It's . . . it's too much." Her voice broke and she felt the tears behind her eyes again. She had cried more in the past week than she had in a long time. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and counting to ten. She reminded herself of the most important thing-she could not let him touch her. If he touched her she wouldn't be able to leave.

She opened her eyes and he was looking at her, concern and love shining in his gaze. He took a step toward her. "What happened, Baby Girl?" He whispered.

It nearly undid her, the gentleness is his voice. The tears slipped down her cheeks. She needed to tell him, so that he wouldn't think she was leaving because of him. "One of my girls from my counseling group killed herself, and I . . . I . . .I found her. She . . .she had shot herself in the head." she whispered. The tears fell.

"Penelope . . . " He moved closer again, reaching out to comfort her, as he always did.

She took a step back from him, hands raised, shaking her head. "Don't," she whispered. If he touched her, she was absolutely certain she would fracture into a million tiny pieces. The look on his face when she did that broke her heart. He looked at her with disbelief in his eyes. His jaw dropped, his hands fell to his sides. He looked so pained that she couldn't take it anymore. She closed her eyes against it, whispered "I just can't do this anymore." Then she turned her back on him and sat back down in her chair. She heard the door softly close behind him as he left.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Another shorty after the last long one. Don't own them. The sad part is almost over (whew!)_

Chapter 8

12 pm  
December 26th

Morgan had been barely been able to contain the need to run out of Garcia's office as fast as he could. He couldn't lie to himself, he was scared shitless. She had never, ever, in the eight plus years that they had known each other, backed away from him like that. He couldn't even begin to process the pain evoked by the simple action and the words she had spoken. When she had said she couldn't do "this" anymore, had she meant the job or their friendship? He never really thought he could lose her until that moment she stepped away from him.

Nearly two hours later, he continued to amble pointlessly along the riverfront, despite the bitter cold, trying to process it all. He had nearly lost her once, because of a man with a gun (and a badge) who thought she was on to his secret. That had scared the hell out of him. But he never once considered she would leave him by choice. Even when Lynch was talking about proposing, he had always assumed she would still be in his life in some shape or form. But from the way she had acted back in her office, he feared that she intended a complete separation-from the B.A.U. and from him.

As he walked, he considered that. It physically hurt to think of his daily routine without her. Work would be dull and horrible. Who would make him smile when the cases became too much? But even worse, his entire _life_ would be dull and horrible without her in it. It would be empty and meaningless. He sighed, unsure of what he was supposed to do now when she had made it so clear that she didn't want or need anything from him.

He froze right there in the middle of the sidewalk as something occurred to him. _Damn it_, he was a complete idiot. How many times, when he was in a bad place, had he tried to push her away? Usually he did it over the phone and by the time he got back she always had things all figured out. Why in the hell had he walked out of her office at all, when it was clear that she was hurting? When had she ever listened to him when he was miserable and he told her to leave things alone? He had failed her a second time. But he would not let it happen again. He finally turned with purpose. Her house was a good thirty minute walk from here, but he could use the time to think.

xxx

3pm  
December 26th

Penelope drove by Derek's house, breathing a sigh of relief when his truck was nowhere to be seen. If it had been there, she was sure she would have folded to the need to see him and stopped by. She headed home with the oddest mixture of relief and disappointment in her heart. She wasn't sure she could maintain this distance between the two of them. It was hard to even make sense of all the feelings she had where Derek was concerned. She was far too exhausted to even try. Since nothing had been going on in the office, she had decided to call it an early day and just go home to sleep.

Ten minutes later she was opening her front door. All she could think about was making it to her bed. She hoped for a solid three hours of sleep-a record in her new sleep-deprived life. She froze half way to her bedroom and did a double take at her sofa. There was a large, gorgeous man sleeping there, looking entirely out of place in her apartment. The man just didn't listen. He looked so peaceful, so young, set among her purple pillows on her girlie couch. She felt tears forming again. Was there no _end_ to the supply of tears? She growled in frustration, turning around in an attempt to stop herself from crying.

She heard him groan and heard the swishing of clothes that probably meant he was sitting up. She decided, for her sanity, to keep her back to him. If she looked at him, it was all over.

"Hey, Garcia, sorry to crash on your couch," he said, his voice heavy with sleep.

She huffed. "No you aren't. Don't you listen?"

"Not always, but I'm actually paying attention now."

What the heck did that mean? She shook her head, trying to think the best way to get him out of her house without having to look at him. "Look, Morgan. . . "

"No, Baby Girl, _please _look at me."

She sighed, then turned. Biggest. Mistake. Ever. He sat there on her couch, looking tired, defeated, and amazingly handsome.

His earnest eyes bored in to hers as he spoke again. "You can leave the B.A.U., you can leave all of the blood and horror behind, but baby, you aren't going to shut me out. Not now, not ever. You wouldn't let me shut you out if the tables were turned." Then he simply opened his arms.

That was all it took. Her resolve was gone. She was across the room in half a second, crying again. His arms folded around here and for the first time in a week she felt whole. She gave up on thinking and just gave in to the chaos of her emotions.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

7pm  
December 27th

Derek woke up slowly, feeling soft, lovely curves pressed against him. He tightened his arms around Penelope, just in case she was awake and decided to try and make a run for it. Opening an eye to peek at her, he was please to see that she was still asleep. He sighed, skimming his nose along her hair line and taking her in. She had sobbed the tears of a person who had been holding a too much inside for far too long before falling into an exhausted sleep in his arms. He had mentally kicked himself yet again for his behavior while he was in Atlanta-if he had just been paying more attention, her hurt never would have gotten so unmanageable. He had a feeling after this, he would always pay more attention to her subtle moods. He was so accustomed to not having to work at relationships, some of the finer nuances sometimes escaped him. But she was well worth whatever work he had to put in.

He tightened his arms around her again. Damn, he was pretty sure he never wanted to let her go again. That should have scared the hell out of him, but instead it made him feel utterly free. Like some huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He didn't know why it had taken him so long to get to the point that he was ready to give everything he had to this woman, but he was finally there. He nuzzled her hairline again. _Forever_, he thought. He wanted forever.

He felt her stir and then her big brown eyes were looking up at him. "I'd say good morning, beautiful," he chuckled, "but it's closer to dinner time."

"Well good evening then, kind sir." She gave him a smile that made his heart stop.

"There's my girl," he whispered. "God, how I've missed that smile."

"Derek . . . "

"I know I don't deserve to ask for anything," he said quickly, cutting her off. He couldn't help himself. "But could you promise never to shut me out like that again? Because it was ridiculously scary, Penelope."

She sighed, turning her face into his chest. "It was just too much. Too much of everything."

His heart clenched again. They still had to actually talk, he realized. He needed to know what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. Then he probably needed to share what was in his heart, so that she wouldn't get pissed at him when he never went home again. He grinned at just the thought of that. "We're going to talk about that. But first, hungry?"

An hour later, they had slipped back into their usual evening ritual-dinner with casual conversation about nothing important. They picked out a movie, stuck it in the player and settled on to the couch. This was when they usually talked, if there was talking to be done. Usually it was Derek that had to get things off his chest after a rough case. But tonight he just looked at Penelope, one eyebrow raised.

xxx

Derek was looking at her with a serious expression on his gorgeous face, one eyebrow raised expectantly. She sighed. There was no escaping this discussion. Moreover, she really didn't want to. She already felt more human than she had all week, after simply crying in his arms. She imagined telling him everything that had weighed her down these past few days would be incredibly liberating. Until she got to the end. Then she expected him to run for the hills and never look her way again._ Don't think about that_, she thought. Instead, she started at the beginning.

"Oh, Derek, she reminded me so much of myself after my parents died," she began. "All alone in the world and carrying around all this guilt from their death." He opened his arms and she sunk into them, laying her head on his shoulder and placing a hand on his perfect chest. "She skipped curfew and they were out looking for her. While they were stopped at a red light, someone came and shot them both, took all of their belongings out of the car. It was so so very close to how I lost my parents, I . . . I just knew where she was at, baby, and it isn't a fun place to be." Morgan squeezed her tighter, and she soaked up his warmth. How could such a simple gesture make her feel so complete? With his support, she found the strength to continue.

"I saw her slipping as the second anniversary of their death approached and I knew she was in trouble. I did what I could, but I couldn't keep it from overtaking her. When she didn't come to our meeting that night, I _knew_. But I didn't want her to be alone and undiscovered for who knows how long."

"Baby, I wish you would have called me, you know I would have come. You didn't have to face that alone." She saw guilt in his eyes. As always, he felt the need to take responsibility for everything.

"I know, but I can't call you every time something bad happens, Derek. You have a life."

He shook his head, nuzzling her hair again. "No, not really. Not without you."

His sincere statement, made in a nonchalant tone, made her heart stop. She looked up to see his dark eyes boring in to hers. She didn't see any of the usual teasing in his eyes-just . . ._heat? _Impossible.

"Umm . . .when I went to her apartment, I saw her. And I kept it together until I got home. Then I completely lost it, because they took me into her apartment to interview me and I saw her. Half of her head . . . " She trailed off, closing her eyes against the memory.

He growled a bit then reached down to wipe tears from her face. This surprised her-she hadn't even realized she'd been crying. "Ugh," she groaned. "I'm so tired of the tears. I've cried more this week than I have since we thought Emily died."

He rested his cheek on her head. "I'm so very sorry I wasn't there for you, baby. I should have been."

"You had your own demons to deal with, Derek. What are the chances of something like that happening to me, and then you getting a case that had so much in common with your history? It was uncanny."

"There wasn't any excuse for me to jump on you like I did," he said, his handsome brow wrinkled in a troubled expression.

"No, but I understood it, D." It was time to tell him the part that would send him out the door. "It was the rest of it that I couldn't take."

His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she meant. "I . . . what do you mean?"

She sighed. Then she sat up and moved herself to the other side of the couch. It would be easier to have this conversation if he wasn't touching her. And really, she may as well get used to his absence. Because when she was finished, she had no doubt he would leave.

She took in a deep breath. "Here's the thing. I spend all my time behind my desk wondering if one of you may not come home this time. We've had so many close calls. It scares me to death. _You_ scare me to death." He started to say something, but she stopped him. "I know its you're job, but you told me not to worry about you Derek, and I can't ever do that."

"Baby Girl . . . "

"No, let me finish. This is important. I don't think I could lose you and still sit there and get the job done, Derek. One of these days, I'm afraid you aren't going to be okay and what happens then? I still have to do what I need to so the team can finish their job. And there's no way I can do that. There is a reason you are always the first person I call, the one I worry about most. I'm no good if something happens to you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

8pm  
December 27th

Penelope looked at him and could see that he still wasn't grasping what she was saying. "Baby, I don't mean to worry you . . . " He started, and she sighed. He really didn't get it.

"Derek, I'm not going to stick around and wait while you get yourself killed!" She started, shaking her head. "I can't do it anymore. Its irrational and silly but every time you have a close call it takes a little piece of myself and I have to put an end to it before there is nothing left!" It all came out in a rush. "I can't sit by and wait for your luck to run out anymore. Then I'll just be empty and alone."

She saw the realization dawn in his eyes, watched as it morphed into shock with a tiny edge of anger. "So," he said slowly, "when you said 'you couldn't do _this_' you really meant you _us_, didn't you?" He motioned back and self between the two of them. When she nodded, his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes as he exhaled deeply. He looked physically in pain again. "Why, baby?"

The damn tears were back. How could she make him see? She searched for the right words, while trying hard to keep herself from crying. "I'm scared to death of losing you, Derek, and you aren't even mine to lose," she whispered. "That's why I have to leave."

It happened before she could even process it. One second he was seated across the couch, the next he had pinned her against the arm of the sofa. His arms braced on either side of her head, the full length of his glorious body pressed against hers. He growled out, "That's a lie, Baby Girl. I've always been yours." And then his mouth was on hers.

It was absolutely the last thing she had expected him to do. She put her hands on his chest, intending to push him away, but there was so much passion and heat in that kiss, she ended up fisting her hands in his grey t-shirt instead. She moaned into his mouth and became utterly lost. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she felt immediately bereft for the loss of contact. He held himself back from her, just slightly, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You can quit the B.A.U., you can quit the fucking F.B.I. for all I care. But you will not get rid of me, Penelope. Not now. Not ever. How often do I tell you I love you?"

She remembered a case in Ohio several years ago when she had asked him that very question. As she remembered his response, realization dawned on her. How could she have been so blind? She smiled now as she repeated his answer. "Every day it's implied." Then she couldn't speak anymore because he was kissing her again. Could it be that he had felt the same way she had for all these years?

When he pulled back again, he answered her unspoken question. "I love you, Penelope Garcia. I think I always have and I _know _I always will. How can someone so smart not see that?"

She smiled at him. "Maybe I need to get my eyes checked?" He grinned at her, moving in again. Her last coherent thought was that she would need to decide to do about work. She supposed her fate would depend largely on whether or not Strauss would be able to overlook the anti-fraternization rules for them. But she knew, after tonight, she wouldn't be able to shut out Morgan. But that was all for tomorrow. Tonight, they had eight plus years to make up for.

THE END

_AN: I hope you've enjoyed! Thanks all for your kind reviews and follows. Have a Happy New Year!_


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